"Today's the day." Fluttershy pushed her half-eaten oatmeal away and told herself she didn't notice how much her hoof was shaking. Looking up at Angel Bunny gnawing his breakfast carrot on the other side of the table, she said it again: "Today."
Angel arched an eyebrow at her.
Warmth blossomed over Fluttershy's face. "Please don't, Angel Bunny." Her voice, she could hear, was shaking now, too. "I know I say that every morning, but this time...this time, I mean it!" Stressing those last two words, wanting to say them forcefully and make them true, she instead had to flinch when they squeaked out of her like she was a rubber bath ducky.
Lowering his brow, Angel went back to the carrot.
And he was right, of course. After all, how many years had it been since Rainbow Dash had first dragged Fluttershy out to Sweet Apple Acres to meet Applejack? How many years since she'd gotten her first glimpse of Big Macintosh plowing the fields, his muscles straining and bulging?
Her breath caught, warmth starting up in places other than her face.
And even better when Applejack had introduced him, so kind and calm and gentle and, oh, so much bigger up close.
The warmth settled between her hind legs, shocked her out of her daydream, the spell her brother had taught her so many years ago springing automatically into her head, the spell that was second-nature to her by now, the spell she counted on to keep everypony from learning—
But, came a whisper she'd spent most of life wishing she could ignore, they're not here. They'll never know.
Another ragged breath, and she clenched her eyes, started muttering the spell out loud.
After all, the whisper went on, if Big Macintosh showed up all sweet and bashful with a dozen red roses—
The scene rushed over her, one of her favorite fantasies, the warmth between her legs getting bigger and hotter—
You would blush, invite him in, and put the roses in a vase while he watched you with smiling, eager eyes: always the gentlecolt, though, always polite, the wonderful masculine scent of him flavoring the air—
She moaned, stepped away from the table, the warmth now a fire, burning the words of the spell from her thoughts, making the magic of the chant trip and fall and—
An all-too-familiar slippery pop behind her, the sudden pressure between her hind legs forcing her into a wider stance, a shudder icing through her as the cool morning air caressed her damp and swelling—
Eyes still closed, she turned and galloped from the kitchen, through the front room, up the stairs, and into her bedroom, a route she knew so well, she didn't need to see the way. Quivering all over, she clicked her bedroom door closed with a hind hoof, desperately wanting to ignore the parts of her now hard and dangling back there, pulled open the bottom dresser drawer with her teeth, wrenched out one of her special blankets, tossed it over the bedspread, and leaped onto it, its softness snuggling around her and making her groan again.
Only then did she open her eyes, only then roll onto her side and peer down past her stomach at her—
She really, really, really, really, really didn't like any of the words for it. Dick, cock, prick: they all just sounded so harsh and unpleasant. Even 'penis' slapped her ear more like a sneer than anything else, and looking at her rounded yellow sack and firm yellow shaft, she always thought they deserved prettier words.
Because for all that she wished she didn't have them, whenever her flap opened up and her shaft pulsed out, that pink tip nudging from the end and making her gasp, she had to admit how very much she liked looking at it, liked touching it, liked thinking about what Big Macintosh's must be like—
And, oh, the pulse it gave then, its head, big as a strawberry almost, pushing free with another wonderful shiver of pleasure.
Big Macintosh would know how to touch it so gently and so perfectly, Fluttershy knew, and one of her other favorite fantasies was imagining him alone in his room, his flap opening the way hers just had, his penis springing from his smooth red hide, big and growing bigger as he fantasized about her....
Panting now, she rolled onto her chest again, squeaked with joy at the sweet, soft pressure of her penis nestling in between her stomach and the blanket. She closed her eyes, grabbed the soft, fluffy end of the blanket, and cuddled against it, gave free rein to the best of all her fantasies, the one where she somehow found the courage to tell Big Macintosh how much she loved him, how much he meant to her, how much she wanted to touch him and help him and be with him for all the rest of his life, and he...he said the same!
Her hips began a gentle bucking motion, sliding her penis the barest inch back and forth, but oh, the luscious sensations that started shimmering through her like sunlight on a summer lake!
Because Big Macintosh would say he loved her too, and they would kiss and snuggle, and when his flap opened to let his penis out, she would let hers do the same—she would tell him about it beforehand, of course!—but when hers came out and she showed it to him, he would look at her with those big, beautiful green eyes, that slow, wonderful smile spreading over his face, and say, "It's you I love, Miss Fluttershy, and that means all of you."
Squealing at the thought, she squeezed her front legs tighter around the blanket and pumped her hind legs harder and faster, the ecstasy building, building, building like the electricity in the air before a thunderstorm, and Fluttershy threw herself into it, imagined that she was stretched out beside Big Macintosh, that he was rubbing against her while she rubbed against him, that the glorious madness pounding through her now was pounding through him as well, was spinning and flaring and exploding into—
Pure liquid pleasure blasted from her, snapped her spine out straight, Fluttershy keening as wonderful, white-hot blasts of ecstasy pumped from her penis. Burying her face in the blanket, her teeth catching and gnawing on a corner, she flailed against the warm softness beneath her, lost herself in beauty, every throbbing orgasm so perfect, she never wanted it to end, never wanted to be anywhere but here, never...never...never...
Finally with one last spurt, her penis started settling, and she could open her eyes, take a deep, langorous breath. Warm stickiness dampened her stomach and chest, but she knew it wouldn't soak through: she'd ordered these blankets especially with that in mind. Relaxing in the afterglow, she imagined Big Macintosh spooned along her back, both of them lovingly spent, cuddled together and not needing to say a word. How warm and safe she would feel with her head tucked into the crook of his neck, his front legs wrapping her loosely but firmly. Perfect, it would be, in every single way—
Except, the little whisper inside her said, that it will never happen.
She sighed, the last sparks of her orgasm trickling away, and she rolled onto her side again to watch her shaft and balls shrinking, the yellow skin between her legs puckering, the flap drawing them back inside, sealing over as smooth as every pony ought to be when out in polite society.
Unbidden, her dad's voice shouted through her thoughts, made her wince to remember her first time at home, running out of the bathroom scared out of her mind at this...this thing growing between her legs the way her brother's had started doing the year before. Because she was a filly, wasn't she? And she knew from the talk her mother had given her that fillies were supposed to open up to show an 'innie,' not an 'outtie.'
Dad hadn't stuck around after that, and Mom hadn't spoken more than ten words to her since. If her brother hadn't taught her the spell all colts learn to keep themselves closed up, she never would've made it through flight school. And even then, she sometimes thought the boys had picked on her so much because they could tell somehow...
Shaking herself, she stretched, gently wiped herself off, then fluttered up from the bed and settled onto the floor. Carefully folding the soiled blanket, she carried it to the laundry hamper, dropped it in, turned, and caught sight of herself in the bathroom mirror.
The spring morning light flowed over her from the window, made the pink and yellow of her mane and coat shine, and she could almost see it, could almost see why they all talked about how pretty she was, Rarity and Photo Finish and everypony she'd met when she was being a model. Stepping closer, she peered into the blue-green of her own eyes. Was it because she was half and half? Because no matter if it was a mare or a colt looking at her, they saw or smelled or sensed something of the other in her?
One more sigh, and she nudged the faucet, fetched her washcloth, soaped, rinsed, and dried herself before tapping downstairs into the kitchen, Angel Bunny still at the table finishing his carrot. Picking up her stone-cold bowl of oatmeal, she was carrying it to the sink when a thump-thump-thump from behind made her turn and look back at the bunny.
He was glaring, his little paws on his hips.
Fluttershy blinked and set the bowl down. "Is...is something wrong, Angel?"
He crooked a claw at the wall calendar.
She blinked some more. He rolled his eyes, hopped over to the counter under the calendar, and tapped today's date.
"Today?" Fluttershy asked, then she was suddenly hearing her own voice from earlier, her own voice saying what she'd been saying every morning for as long as she'd known Big Macintosh: Today's the day.
Shock rattled her. "Oh, no, Angel. No, I...I couldn't. Not now. Not after what I just did."
He tapped the date on the calendar even harder.
She wanted to quiver, wanted to hide, wanted to do anything in the world other than stand there staring at the gruff little bunny. Well, anything other than head out to Sweet Apple Acres. Because— "He'll hate me," she whispered.
Angel Bunny folded his arms and glared harder.
"Well, all right," Fluttershy had to admit. "He won't hate me. Big Macintosh is too nice for that. But..." She felt as wilted as a daisy in autumn. "But even if he's nice about it, he'll still say 'no.'"
The sound of paper flapping, and she looked up, Angel flipping through the pages of the calendar that hadn't happened yet. Reaching the current month again, he turned his eyes back to her and jabbed a claw at today's date once more.
"I never thought of it that way," she had to admit, realization dawning on her. "'Cause if I do it today, it'll be done, and I...I won't hafta worry about it any more days in the future! I can tell him how I feel, can show him my—" She stopped, wouldn't use any of those horrible words for it. "Then he can be all blushing and polite and tell me he's not interested, and—" A knot of muscle between her wings loosened so suddenly, she gasped at the feeling of relief. "I can let it go! Can stop wishing and hoping 'cause I'll know! I'll know once and for all that it won't ever happen!"
She had to swallow against the sudden tightness in her throat, but she knew the truth now, knew it in a way she'd never known anything before.
For her own peace of mind, she had to fly out into the first real warm day of spring and—
And crush her every hope and dream.
Quickly, before she could run back upstairs and hide under her covers, she rushed into the front room, pulled open the door, and took off for Ponyville and past that, the fields of Sweet Apple Acres.